


OSS #4 Wingfic

by somewhereelse



Series: bee-eye-en-gee-oh [4]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, F/M, Future Fic, Heaven & Hell, Inspired by..., Olicity Summer Sizzle, Post-Season/Series Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 05:23:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19434781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somewhereelse/pseuds/somewhereelse
Summary: Demons don’t like being summoned. They especially don’t like being summoned when it’s to be told that one of their own is in the Bad Place by accident. Or, the Arrowverse has (a modified version of)The Good Place’s afterlife, sort of.





	OSS #4 Wingfic

**Author's Note:**

> Crack!fic, like _crack!_ fic. 
> 
> I honestly don’t even know, and you’re just going to have to roll with people dying in very random order with no logical reasoning to how time works. At least this is less like religious iconography and more like _The Good Place_. Also, everyone’s dead but in _The Good Place_ sense where they’re alive and kicking in the afterlife and no one’s in mourning or anything so **_CHARACTER DEATH_** (but kind of not).

Felicity crinkles her nose as she stares at the group awaiting her participation. 

“Is that really necessary?”

Call her crazy, but perpetual disembowelment isn’t her idea of a good time.

“You’re crazy,” Carrie shakes her head in disgust and disbelief, fulfilling Felicity’s inner thought. “What’s your suggestion then?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbles, suddenly nervous at being put on the spot. Felicity’s still getting used to this place, this _life_ , and sticking her neck out for someone who ended up in the Bad Place isn’t exactly a bright idea. Maybe she should have just kept her mouth shut and agreed to the disemboweling.

“We could play speed metal really loud?”

Amanda scoffs and mutters a derisive, “Amateur hour.”

“Hey, lay off,” Sara, of all demons, jumps to her defense, “Newbie’s just working her way up to it.”

Felicity sort of smiles in gratitude for the save. She doesn’t _want_ to work her way up to it. Torturing people, no matter why they ended in the Bad Place, with bad music is about all her queasy stomach can handle. Five months in and she’s barely ventured out to meet the other demons, reluctantly sticking close to the ones she was assigned to shadow. Some demons take to torture like a duck to water, others have to be coaxed into it, and Felicity is apparently in the latter camp.

“Sara, this isn’t Earth. You don’t get lesbian points for converting the straight girl,” Carrie notes casually but caustically.

Sara bares her teeth at the other demon. “Fuck off. Demonic doesn’t equal rude. That’s why you never move up the ladder board. You’re a known quantity, no imagination, no suspense, no _longevity_.”

_Damn_ , Felicity cheers mentally. Sara knows where to hit ’em where it hurts. Carrie’s been at this for decades, but that’s nothing compared to the century Sara’s put in. With the demons she’s seen come and go, if Sara’s pointing out weak spots, then Carrie’s talk is bigger than her game.

“And I’m _bisexual_. Close-minded bitch,” Sara adds in a sneer.

Firmly put in her place, at least when it comes to Sara, Carrie turns back to trying to sink her claws into Felicity. “Whatever,” she dismisses Sara but there’s wariness in it. “How did you even get here, Barbie?”

It’s something she’s questioned time and time again. But it doesn’t matter. She’ll never know.

Human souls retain their memories. For those in the Good Place, it’s a pleasant benefit to be able to remember their loved ones. For those in the Bad Place, memories are used in the commission of torture. The rules are different for demons, and maybe angels, too, but Felicity has never met one to ask.

Every demon’s memory of their _personal_ time on Earth is erased. Only few disjointed facts are left intact. She knows she finds men attractive, like Sara knows she’s bi, but can’t recall any relationships. She knows _of_ the Kardashians but not her opinion of them. Did she worship them and buy their products, find them a reality TV trainwreck she couldn’t look away from, or completely despise them? Even that basic preference is a mystery. The worst is that she has no memories of any family or friends to avoid conflicts of interest during the job.

Malcolm the Head Demon relies on their intrinsically corrupt and cruel nature to take hold once they’re given the opportunity to inflict pain, like in that Stanford prison experiment or _The Lord of the Flies_. In one way, it’s the great equalizer among the demons. With a few historic celebrity exceptions, no one knows what anyone else did, or how they _qualified_ for this position but...

“Doesn’t matter. Whatever it was, had to have been _heinous_ ,” Amanda points out, a touch of pride in her voice as she, for once, looks approvingly at Felicity.

Now there’s someone who’s exactly where she was destined to be. Amanda revels in individualizing the torture, personalizing it like a custom spa day, except for the part where it’s literal eternal torture. Felicity has no idea what she did in her human life to convince The Powers That Be that she would be best suited for _this_ job in the afterlife.

Carrie enjoys the brute force of causing pain, and Amanda the creative challenge. Sara doesn’t seem to derive any particular pleasure from it—maybe she did at the beginning—but she’s damn efficient.

But Felicity? Her stomach just churns and threatens to revolt every time. She hasn’t even managed her first solo session, which makes it sound much more sexual than the reality and which is what prompted this grotesque brainstorming session.

“Demons!”

They whip around to face the doorway and Malcolm and answer, “Yes?” perfectly in sync. Randomly, Felicity has a flashback to the _Charlie’s Angels_ movies. If it weren’t an obvious indication of a psychotic break, she would have burst into hysterical laughter at the thought of these three as _angels_.

“Wing up! Meet me at the train station. We’re going to the Medium Place. _All_ of you.”

The last sentence is ominous and directed at Felicity. She shivers from the attention from both Malcolm and the other three demons. Then Malcolm’s gone, not in a poof of smoke as she previously would have thought, but by walking out the same door.

“The Medium Place?” Felicity repeats in a whisper to Sara as Carrie and Amanda grumble about having their afternoon sessions interrupted.

Sara nods with an eye roll. “It’s what it sounds like. They’re not really great at naming places around here.”

That’s true. They’ve got the Waterboarding Room, the Shark-Infested Pool, the Lava Field, and so many other places without a hint of a pun or a pop culture reference.

Felicity leans in again. “What’s there?”

“ _Who’s_ there,” Sara corrects pointedly. “Oliver Queen.”

She goggles for a moment before clarifying, “Oliver Queen is dead. Like _actually_ dead?” Last her earthly information bank knew, after five years of being lost at sea, Oliver Queen was returned to Starling City, maybe not well but certainly _alive_.

Sara nods again, a little more impatiently. “For over fifty years.”

How did time pass in this place again? Felicity had been rematerialized as a demon just over five months ago. Oliver Queen had been alive during her lifetime and dead for over _fifty_ years. Yet her year of death was _2071_ , and she had no memory of his dying. All her Earth information after her death came from a personalized demonic database, which apparently hadn’t deemed that information useful to her.

“That’s a fact, right? I don’t remember that,” Felicity mutters, “He was famous in Star City. I feel like I would have remembered hearing about that.”

With a suspicious look, Sara replies, “Maybe he died after you.”

There’s something the senior demon isn’t telling her, but Felicity’s too scared of her to press the issue.

“Anyway, the Judge created the Medium Place _for_ Oliver. He’s been dead for half a century, and they just put him there like five months ago.” Like five months ago when Felicity came into being as a demon? “I hear the place is a trip. You’ll see when we get there.”

Sara casts her another skeptical look. “You do know how to use those things, right?”

In response, Felicity tentatively flexes the large black wings protruding from her back. They’d been a _weird_ adjustment. Everything in the Bad Place was sized to accommodate the extra 12 to 20 feet of wingspan on all the demons, and yet Felicity still found a way to knock them into every _frakking_ thing. Just another way she couldn’t quite get her bearings here, even if the wings felt like a weightless extension of her body.

“Are field trips _normal?_ ” she asks one last question when the downdraft from Amanda’s and Carrie’s takeoffs die down.

This time Sara shakes her head and gives a bitter laugh, “No. I haven’t left the Bad Place since I got here.” Then she’s up and off through the hole in the roof.

Felicity follows, carefully and a little unsteadily. Not for the first time, she wonders what _Sara_ did to end up a demon.

* * *

The train ride, all things considered, is actually kind of pleasant. It’s four hours of monotonous, unchanging prairie landscape, but at least it’s four hours that she’s not expected to spend torturing humans. Felicity tries to hide her relief, especially since Carrie and Amanda are obviously put out by the break.

When they do arrive at the Medium Place, so far a nondescript old-timey train station connected to absolutely nothing, Felicity’s ordered to stay on the train as the rest disembark. Sara shoots her a pitying look but doesn’t say anything.

For lack of anything else to do, Felicity stares out the window at the endless field of tall grass and broods. 

Why couldn’t _she_ have ended up in the Medium Place? The Good Place is obviously too much of a stretch given her current situation, but Felicity’s pretty sure she would have been a _medium_ person. Why does Oliver Queen, who, for all she remembered from the news, was kind of a jerk—drunk, belligerent, womanizing—get a medium afterlife when she’s expected to dole out torture to former fellow human beings?

_Not_ that she’s wishing the Bad Place on Oliver Queen. There were very few people she thought actually deserved the Bad Place, and it makes her uncomfortable to be passing that kind of eternal judgment, even if her opinion has zero bearing. All she’s trying to say is that there should be more room in the Medium Place for medium people because Oliver Queen can’t be the only medium soul in all of existence.

“Felicity!”

When she hears Malcolm bellowing her name, she scrambles to the front of the train. As much as she hates torture, Felicity has enough self-preservation to prefer it to _being_ the one tortured. Eventually, time will reveal that she’s terrible at this job, and she’ll get demoted down to one of the tortur _ee_ s but she’s trying to avoid that for as long as possible. Not angering Malcolm is one of the burdens to bear. 

Well, shit, maybe she does belong in the Bad Place if this is her natural way of thinking.

The first thing she sees, stepping off the train, is a large black man and his proportionally large, white wings. The contrast is so artful and aesthetically pleasing that it takes her a moment to stop staring.

The angel offers an angelic, heh, smile and greets her warmly. 

“Hello, Felicity."

Her instinct is to smile back before suspicion kicks in. “How do you know my name? Do I know you?”

He smiles, but it’s sad. “You can call me John. We—”

Interrupting the angel, Malcolm snidely insists, “I told you. She’s one of ours. They took her memory and everything.”

“Felicity is not one of yours!”

The angry protest comes from behind the angel. A previously hidden man fights his way past John’s truly massive wings—if the general maximum is twenty, his must be thirty—to go toe to toe with Malcolm.

Felicity finds herself speechless again. This man is just that—a _man_ , not angel or demon or other powerful being—but that doesn’t take away from the fact that he is the _most_ beautiful thing she’s ever seen. Another second of marveling, and she realizes that _this_ is Oliver Queen.

He looks different than the last blip on TMZ she remembers but he’s aged into all that potential of his youth. The one perk of the afterlife is that everyone’s captured in the peak of their lives. This must be Oliver post-rescue but decades before he died, especially if he passed away after her. 

Felicity and Sara have been preserved in their late twenties, Carrie in her mid-thirties. Amanda makes a case for graceful aging (apart from being a blood-thirsty sadist) in her forties. Malcolm is an outlier in his “distinguished” fifties because the Bad Place is especially sexist.

“Give her back!”

Felicity’s missed most of Oliver’s tirade, but that exclamation is heard perfectly.

“Excuse me,” she interrupts stridently, “but I am no one’s—”

She cuts herself off immediately, because is she really about to lobby to stay in the Bad Place just to claim independence? Instead, she shakes her head and questions, “What is going on here?”

“Oliver,” Malcom sneers the name, and Oliver responds with a growl, never mind that Malcolm is the _Head_ Demon, “thinks the Accountants made a mistake.”

Hope flutters in Felicity’s chest, where her heart used to beat.

“Does that happen?”

Malcolm doesn’t even sound sympathetic when he answers, “It doesn’t matter. What’s done can’t be undone.”

“Is _that_ true?”

Felicity directs this question to John. After all, he’s an angel. He can’t lie to her. Can he?

“Unclear,” John grimaces, laying a hand on Oliver’s shoulder when it looks like he’s advancing on Malcolm again. “This has never happened before.”

She watches Oliver warily. Can a soul be killed again? Because, even taking into consideration his current status of, well, _dead_ , Oliver seems to have zero sense of self-preservation.

“That’s why we’re all here. To sort this out,” John explains, “Malcolm might be the Head Demon, but he’s _not_ the Judge.”

“Where is she anyway?” Malcolm grumbles, sounding like a petulant child.

“The souls will be there for you to torture for all of eternity, Malcom. Cool your britches.”

The group—human, demons, and angels alike—jumps at the sudden appearance of a woman dressed in judge’s robes. Malcolm sulks even more at the reprimand from the all mighty being who is presumably the Judge. And who’s holding a _burrito?_

“Thanks for interrupting my lunch,” she rolls her eyes, “but since you couldn’t wait ten minutes, you get to watch me eat instead.”

And that’s what they do, in absolute silence, as the Judge finishes her burrito.

Felicity can’t quite wrap her head around the absolute ridiculousness of the day. And that’s after spending five months as a demon. What’s worse than the quiet sounds of the Judge’s culinary appreciation is how Oliver Queen won’t stop staring at her, which she can’t even reciprocate with Malcolm watching her.

“Now,” the Judge wipes her hands with a napkin that appears and disappears as needed, “what’s this all about?”

“Oliver thinks the Accountants made a mistake. I happen to agree with him. The afterlife is unbalanced and requires correction,” John speaks with all the grace and finality in the universe.

Maybe not the entire universe, because the Judge levels him with a long-suffering look. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Johnny.” Felicity’s eyes widen because is the _Judge_ supposed to address angels by _nicknames?_ “I have to review the lives.”

The Judge closes her eyes for a few seconds then pops them back open. “Done!” she declares brightly.

“And?” Oliver butts in impatiently. John shoves at his shoulder, but the human takes no notice of being moved ten feet. “Well?” he insists.

“It appears there was a slight oopsie.”

“An _oopsie?_ ” The Judge cringes at her harsh incredulity. “An oopsie _how?_ ” 

Felicity holds her breath because is she about to... Is this really happening?

“I shouldn’t be telling you this but oh what the hey. The Accountants shouldn’t have pressed the wrong button either. You see, the process of sorting souls for the afterlife is complicated.” With a wave of her hand, the Judge summons a map of the world populated with tiny pulsing dots flashing green and red. Even the demons look enraptured by the display. “There are billions of you down there, doing trillions of things every second.”

“The Accountants assign a point value, negative or positive, to every action, and when you die, they look at the final tally, and you either go to the Good Place or the Bad Place. In the millions of years that I’ve existed, we have only ever had one zero sum, and that’s _you_ , Oliver. For every bad thing you did, you did something good, and at the end of your life, it all perfectly cancelled out.”

“We argued over you for a long time, man. Fifty years,” John says, confirming Sara’s gossip.

“Okay, great, good for him, what’s the mistake?” Sara’s the one who can’t be contained this time. Felicity can’t tell if it’s because she’s truly in suspense or just bored.

“Well, with Oliver, we couldn’t let him into the Good Place because he didn’t earn it, and we couldn’t send him to the Bad Place because he didn’t deserve it. The compromise was _this_ , the Medium Place.” The Judge sends away the world map with a wave of her hand and gestures to the expanse of banal prairie land.

“Then the issue became what to do with _Felicity_.”

All eyes swing to her, and she staggers back a step. “Me?” Pointing to her chest, Felicity further questions, “What do I have to do with _any_ of this?”

The Judge stares blankly at her for a second before shaking her head. “Oh, right, you’re a _demon_ right now. I forgot.” Then she snaps her fingers, and the memories come flooding back.

By the time she’s finished having eighty years of memories shoved back into her conscious in under ten seconds, Felicity’s fallen to her knees in the dirt, Oliver right there to hold her up.

“Oliver?” Felicity gasps in disbelief, eyes wide and tearing up as she stares at her _husband_.

“I’m so sorry,” he chokes out. “I knew something was wrong right away, but it took me months to even find a way to communicate with anyone outside of here. I didn’t know where they took you but I can’t believe they turned you into a—”

Felicity flings herself out of his embrace. She half-drags herself to her feet then immediately keels over to vomit bile in the dirt. Surprisingly, it’s Carrie who turns away with a disgusted, “ _Ew_.”

“What? What’s wrong with her? I’ve never done that before. Is that normal for non-eternal beings?”

The Judge’s questions are a faint echo in the back of her mind so it’s John who answers her.

“No, I think she’s realizing—”

“I _tortured_ people.” The words crawl out of her throat like knives. Oliver reaches for her again to offer comfort, but she pushes him away. “No, don’t touch me! Don’t taint yourself.”

Amanda scoffs, looking up from the inspection of her cuticles. “Calm down, Barbie. It’s not like you inflicted any _actual_ damage. You think speed metal and shutting off a movie ten minutes before the ending is _torture_.”

John—Dig, her _brother_ —manages a dry chuckle and a fond, “Sounds about right.”

Felicity just stares at him some more because, _of course_ , Dig is an actual, literal angel, just like he was when he was alive.

“Anyway,” the Judge continues, nonplussed by all of their reactions, “back to the problem. We decided to put Oliver in the Medium Place. Issue was Felicity was slated for the Good Place, but no Good Place would be the Good Place for Felicity without Oliver. And for Oliver, any Medium Place with Felicity would be the Good Place.”

Sighing dramatically, the Judge groans, “You see my dilemma.”

“How did you go from that to making Felicity a demon in the Bad Place?” Oliver demands like he’s the Green Arrow trying to find an arms dealer and not one of billions of souls whose fate rests in the hands of an all powerful judge who looks a lot like Lyla.

“Do you two remember how you died?” Judge Lyla asks before shaking her head again, “Of course you don’t. We suppress those memories for non-Bad Place souls.”

With a complete disregard for potentially traumatic experiences, she reveals. “In your sleep. Holding each other. It was all very romantic and soulmate-y. Well done, you two.”

“What does that have to—”

“ _I AM GETTING THERE!_ ”

The entire Medium Place shakes as the Judge releases her fury on a disruptive Malcolm. Everyone instinctively cowers and braces until the ground stops quaking and she casually regains her composure.

“As I was saying, you died simultaneously. Your souls were in limbo for a _real_ long time. The Accounting Department has a lot of turnover, go figure. Apparently someone inherited your cases, saw the death date, freaked out that their predecessor messed up and left your souls on ice for half a century, and released you.”

“Again, I don’t know if you’ve noticed this but _Felicity_ is a _demon_ ,” Oliver berates, earning himself a stink eye from the Judge.

“I know you don’t know how this works because you’re a measly human, but you are really pushing your luck, Green Arrow.”

Instinctively, Felicity goes to soothe Oliver, laying her hand on his chest, and he deflates just a smidge. Judge Lyla breaks composure to coo at them, “Aw, even dead you two are still just so adorbs.”

_Okay, then, definitely_ not _Lyla_ , Felicity corrects in her head because there’s no way those words in that tone would ever leave her friend’s mouth.

“So you two died simultaneously. Again, we deal with billions of people so it happens a lot, not usually a big deal. Except there was someone else with a personal tie to your lives who also happened to die in Star City that night at that very second. Lots of coincidences in this one.”

Oliver groans, “I was hoping to avoid this.”

“What?” Felicity asks before correcting, “Or _who?_ ”

“Isabel Rochev,” the Judge reveals matter-of-fact.

“You’ve got to be forking kidding me,” Felicity pauses, “Forking. What the fork? You know I’m trying to say _forking_ and not forking, right? Honestly, the one time I don’t use frakking.”

Dig chuckles and explains, “It’s a thing in the Good Place. You can’t curse. I guess it’s a thing around the Judge, too.”

“You betcha, Johnny,” the Judge winks flirtatiously. Felicity side eyes her on behalf of her old friend. Where _is_ Lyla anyway? “Anyway, Isabel’s file somehow got shuffled in with yours due to the cosmic connection, and with all the bickering about where you should end up, we never actually noticed. When the souls got released, Oliver was sent to his pre-determined place, but Isabel and Felicity swapped somehow.”

“Don’t your people have supervision?” Dig questions, annoyed and incredulous.

“He thought it was a fork up so he pushed the release through without clearing it to cover his ash,” Lyla sighs, all middle management aggravation. There’s a reckoning to be had for that Accountant, and Felicity does _not_ envy them. “These departments are all staffed with former human souls so you can chalk it up to millennia of substandard human work ethic screwing things up for everyone else.”

“So is that it?” Felicity bursts out, “Can I go be with Oliver now?”

She no longer cares about the stupid series of events that lead to the last five months of misery, not when she can look forward to spending eternity with the love of her life.

“It’s not that simple,” the Judge grimaces, “Allowing you to stay here still doesn’t solve the problem of Oliver getting an equivalent of the Good Place when he didn’t technically earn it. And, plus, this means we have to turn Isabel into a demon, which she’s not going to be too happy about, knowing the alternative.”

“Wait!” A new voice joins the fray, and they turn to see Isabel Rochev running towards them. She looks as coldly beautiful as the day Felicity had the displeasure of meeting her in Queen Consolidated. “Are you saying I can leave here?”

“Yes,” the Judge frowns, ”but it means you become a demon.”

“How is that different from her _human_ life?” Oliver mutters and is promptly elbowed by Felicity. Not that she disagrees, but peanut gallery commentary is not going to help the situation.

“I don’t care,” Isabel shakes her head, “Just get me out of here. I’m _not_ spending all of eternity with _him_. He’s the crabbiest, rudest, most sarcastic ashhole to ever pretend to be anyone’s hero.”

“If you’re sure...” the Judge hedges, one more time.

“Yes! What do I have to do? Tattoo it on my forehead, you dumb bench?”

The Judge’s lips thin, and she snaps her fingers. 

Isabel immediately disappears. 

“Have fun with that one, Malcolm,” she mutters distastefully.

The Head Demon grins diabolically. “Oh, I think we’ll get along just fine.”

“I’m an eternal, all-knowing, all-seeing being, and I _still_ find you creepy and annoying,” the Judge shivers in disgust, and he gives a nonchalant shrug, “It’s a gift.”

“That’s one error sorted. Now back to you. Still can’t sort out this dilemma of Good Place versus Medium Place,” the Judge sighs with annoyance.

“What if Felicity stays but they can’t ever fork?” Amanda suggests.

Even through her own incredulity, Felicity finds Oliver’s look of horror hilarious. “This place is supposed to be medium, not _bad_.”

“It’s not supposed to be _good_ either,” Carrie retorts, and damn Amanda’s penchant for creative problem solving. “At least she didn’t suggest taking away masturbation, too.”

“Why are you still here?” Oliver bellows, the vein in his forehead throbbing visibly.

The Judge tilts her head and considers, “True. The Bad Place has been made whole with the addition of Isabel so there’s really no reason for _all_ of you to stick around.”

With a snap of her fingers, Carrie swirls upward, her wings flapping futilely against the funnel that carries her away. Another snap and Amanda is gone, too, tornado-style.

“Wait!” Felicity blurts out before she can _Wizard of Oz_ the rest of them. “Can I ask you a question, Your Honor?”

“Only because you addressed me properly,” the Judge allows with a pleased hum.

“I guess this isn’t how things are usually done. But can you tell us why Sara is a demon? Even after a century of torturing souls, she just doesn’t seem actually _bad_.”

The Judge closes her eyes, presumably reviewing Sara’s entire life in mere seconds. When she opens them again, there’s annoyance in her expression. “ _Malcolm_ ,” her voice is all disappointed parent.

“What?” the Head Demon shifts nervously.

“The metrics changed,” the Judge states firmly. “You know what you’re supposed to do when the metrics change.”

“She’s my best performer!” Malcolm argues, “Besides, do you know how many souls she’s tortured in the last century? Thousands! Millions!”

“You know afterlife actions don’t count. She only did as you told. And now the _metrics_ changed.” 

The snap sends Malcolm flying away, and the Judge turns a critical eye to Sara. Her snap is deliberately slow, and unlike Felicity, Sara bears the return of her memories in absolute stillness. When Sara blinks her eyes open, they’re impossibly sad.

“Do you know why you were sent to the Bad Place, Sara Lance?” The Judge’s voice is gentle but firm, a far cry from her immovable tone when dismissing Malcolm.

Sara swallows harshly and nods. “I loved a woman.”

“You were burned at the stake for it,” the Judge confirms in a remorseful tone. “The metrics have changed. Johnny will see to your reassignment.”

This snap disappears John then Sara, not immediately like Isabel or in a discombobulating, literal tornado like the demons, but almost gently. Sara even has enough time to crook a smile at Felicity and wiggle her fingers in a wave.

“Now,” the Judge takes a large breath and turns back to them.

“Your Honor?” Oliver starts gently. The title gives her pause before she inclines her head for him to continue. “I think I know how to solve your problem.”

“Fifty years of contemplation by all-knowing beings, and you, Oliver Queen, think you have the answer?” His nod is small but sure, and she sighs, “Hit me with your best shot.” Then, under her breath, “ _Why don’t you hit me with your best shot? Hit me with your best shot. Fire away._ ”

The random musical interlude throws Oliver off, but he clears his throat to recenter and declare, “You should send Felicity to the Good Place.”

“I already told you, she doesn’t have a Good Place without you,” the Judge sighs impatiently. If the Judge weren’t an all-knowing being who is absolutely correct on that point, Felicity would pipe up about having her own voice. Plus, she has no desire to ride a tornado back to the Bad Place.

Oliver licks his lips and squeezes her hand. “I mean, you should erase her memories of me and send her to the Good Place so she won’t know that I’m not there. It’s what she deserves.”

“Oliver, no,” the refusal is out of her mouth in a millisecond, “I’m not going to spend an _eternity_ without you. Not even the memory of you. I lived like that for five months and it felt like— Okay, obviously not actual torture, that’s _way_ worse, but it just— It’s not right. I’m not me without you.”

“You won’t know,” he insists, tears in his eyes, “You won’t even know I’m missing. You’ll just be happy in a place that’s your own personal good place.”

“I wasn’t supposed to know in the Bad Place but I knew something wasn’t right. I’ll know in the Good Place, too. The Judge is right. I don’t have a Good Place without you.”

Felicity can’t believe this is happening again. She can’t believe that it is the frakking _afterlife_ and she is _still_ arguing with her husband about his stupid tendency to fall on his sword unnecessarily. And this time, they’re not dealing in lifetimes but in _eternity_.

“You were in a literal torture chamber, Felicity. Of course you thought something was wrong. You didn’t belong there.” Stubbornly, Oliver insists, “This time, you’ll be happy. You’ll be in a place as perfect as you deserve. You won’t even think to miss me.”

Her response is all impassioned anger, “Don’t you dare say that. Oliver Queen, you stubborn ash, you made my life worth—”

“Hate to interrupt,” the Judge waves at them from the side where she’s wandered around to spy on their intense declarations, “Still, _so_ adorbs. Don’t know how you keep it going. Anyway, I’m right, but Oliver’s right, too. Wow, _never_ thought I’d say that. He solved the problem.”

Before they can even think to ask, the Judge snaps her fingers.

* * *

Felicity finds herself in the kitchen of their home for the last forty years of their lives. Oliver is still standing in front of her, clutching her hands, and now also blinking incredulously at their surroundings. Felicity grabs him in a hard hug, the one she’s been holding back since her memories returned.

“What? What just happened and where are we?” she mumbles into his shirt collar, absolutely unwilling to pull away.

Oliver answers with an honest, “I have no idea,” that’s immediately rendered moot.

“Hi guys!” Dig greets them boisterously. He rounds the island to encompass them in a group hug that doesn’t feel at all ridiculous, not even when his wings fold in around them like a cocoon. “You finally made it here.”

“ _Where_ is here?” Felicity chokes out in between having the breath squeezed out of her by two of her favorite guys.

When he pulls away, Dig straightens to his full height and very seriously intones, “Welcome to the Good Place. I’d show you around, but it’s kind of your house. We’ll do the neighborhood tour later after you get settled.”

“John,” Oliver stops his practiced spiel, eyes wide with panic, “ _What_ is going on?”

“All that sacrificing, Oliver. Did you really think it wouldn’t eventually lead to something good?” Dig asks gently, but Oliver just stares in confusion. “The suggestion for Felicity. How you wanted to send her to the Good Place without you. It tipped your scale to the positive.”

“I thought—” Felicity regathers and continues, “The Judge said actions in the afterlife don’t count.”

“Actions in the afterlife don’t count when they’re motivated by personal gain. Souls in the Bad Place trying to get out by suddenly acting like saints are never going to undo their human actions. But _selfless_ actions,” Dig tilts his head towards Oliver, “those _always_ count.”

“So when I asked the Judge to do what was best for Felicity even if she wouldn’t remember me...”

“You did it with love in your heart and nothing to gain,” Dig finishes. “That earned you new points and a new tally. And since Felicity was always supposed to end up here...”

Felicity can’t help but add, “It’s just like you always do. Even if you could stand to ask for my opinion every once in awhile.”

Oliver chuckles nervously, but John provides him some cover. “Well, it worked out this time which is ultimately the last time so that’s all that matters now.” To further distract Felicity, he asks, “So what movie did you end early?”

“ _Avengers: Endgame_ ,” she replies with a sigh knowing his diversionary tactics.

“Girl!” Dig whistles low under his breath.

“I know. I felt _terrible_ ,” Felicity admits quietly, “I was going to do _Black Panther_ , but that would have been cruel and unusual punishment.”

With an unrestrained laugh, Oliver cups her face in his hands and draws her in for a deep kiss. It’s like all their reunion kisses put together except even better because this time they have forever. Felicity sighs happily into his mouth, forgetting Dig’s existence entirely for the moment.

This isn’t just the Good Place. It’s the _best_ place.

“Johnny!” Lyla’s familiar voice carries through the open kitchen window, and they pull apart reluctantly. “Are you done creeping on their reunion? Can you bring them over for dinner already?”

Raising his voice, Dig responds with a, "Coming, dear." Then with a wink, he adds, “Let’s go. You don’t want to upset Your Honor.”

_Wait, what?_

**Author's Note:**

> What the fork just happened in my brain?


End file.
